


A Kingdom to Win

by Calleva



Category: Aethelflaed/Erik - Fandom, Aethelrik - Fandom, The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: Angst, F/M, Love, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 18:32:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13464081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calleva/pseuds/Calleva
Summary: This is a continuation of 'Fire and Ice' and follows the same AU.Erik and Aethelflaed have now been married for five years. Erik has made a great success of the land he was given and rebuilt the great hall. Despite this, he is still haunted by the death of his brother and his own role in this. Aethelflaed is growing into her role as Lady of the Mercians and becoming more powerful, with the help and support of Erik. Both have had successes but has this been at the expense of their relationship? Erik ponders his new life.





	1. Chapter 1

It was at these times he missed his brother most.

He had been an early riser since his Viking days. "But what did you possibly find to do?" His wife once asked him. It had seemed ridiculously simple to her, the life of raiding and destroying. He sighed to himself as he walked the familiar trackway across the Mercian fields. They were his fields now, and he liked to keep a regular eye on them. He had always been the careful brother, the one who thought and planned. Early morning was the best time for this, before even she was awake. 

Thinking and planning for a Viking life wasn't entirely different to the way he lived now. The old fortress at Beamfleot had needed to be maintained and with the growing number of men swarming around, it was necessary to ensure that a weakened structure would not collapse and cause harm. Then the men themselves needed regular feeding and that had been a real challenge. They took most of their food in raids; grain, animals, vegetables, but the shortfall would be purchased. There were disputes too, over silver, reputation and women. The health and welfare of that whole tribe was mostly dependent on him, and as their numbers grew, so the planning became more complex. 

Sigefrid had left all the organising to his brother, while he played the lord. He drank harder, ate harder, fought harder and rutted harder than anyone: a visible embodiment of the Viking way. Erik found himself smiling at the thought. Opposites always, they had complemented each other well, had been good partners, like the plough oxen he now owned.

There were differences between Beamfleot and Ravenshill of course. Here, they had servants rather than slaves; these couldn't be threatened in the same way, although his style had never been a harsh one. Erik found that people worked better with encouragement, so that they wanted to give of their best. Food, too, was either bought or produced on his farms around the burh. Tenants and bondsmen would bring produce rather than coin, but even so, it was the lord's duty to provide and stealing wasn't an option.

Erik sighed again as he remembered his early days in this land. He and his older brother had arrived in longships with a warband. There had been nothing for them back in the old country. Cold, bleak winters in the harsh landscape made farming hard, and unless one wanted to be a farmer, a fisherman, or a trader what was there for an ambitious man but raiding? By the time he was twenty, Erik had an array of silver rings up his arm and was already a leader of men. With his planning and his brother's skill in battle, the brothers had tasted early success. Then had come the biggest prize of all: the princess captured for a king's ransom. His future wife. She had challenged everything he knew - and suddenly it was no longer enough, the life of plunder and pillage. There was no building, only destruction. What did he have to show for it all but a few arm rings? Despite being a war lord he could not provide for a woman such as she was. He owned nothing separately, no land and no silver. Sworn to his brother, he didn't even own himself. 

She had warned that there couldn't be two kings, they were bound to become rivals; eventually he and his brother would fall out and one would destroy the other. Even if this did not happen, the next generation would ensure that only one royal line would survive. But it no longer mattered; the king's daughter had corrected his romantic idea of kingship and he no longer desired the same things at twenty four as he had at twenty. He now wanted a home of his own, a place to settle and build. Besides, what good was reputation if the deeds weren't written down? A bard might create songs but how long would they last if only passed into memory? 

Erik had learned to read and write. His wife had promised to teach him but in the end her duties had got in the way so she had hired a monk. She would read with him each evening of course, but in this way he had got the hang of it quickly.

It didn't matter that the Mercian Witan resented him for marrying Alfred's daughter, their Lady. As a Dane he would never be liked or trusted by them, however well he fared. Newly baptised, an efficient and effective overlord, whose support had enabled and empowered his wife... They saw him as a traitor to his own who had stolen the biggest Saxon marriage prize in the land.

This was unfair, like so much in life. Erik stroked his neat beard as he approached the stables. Life had been simpler in the days of raiding when he wore his beard long and his eyes were ringed with black.  


In marrying him, the Lady of the Mercians had maintained the standing of every Mercian noble. Had she chosen one of them, it would have promoted one family, one faction, and left the others resentful. Nor was he a traitor. Rival Northmen came in bands seeking plunder and land. They fought each other almost as often as they fought Saxons. Warriors were loyal to the lords who had the most and war bands grew and shrunk accordingly. There were also Danes who fought in Saxon armies, and those who like himself had married Saxon women and wanted to settle and raise families.

He was not a traitor. 

A dark nose emerged over a stable door and he patted it thoughtfully. The sun was now fully up and he felt its warmth on his back. He was no traitor but.... he hadn't intended to fall in love with the Saxon princess. With the ransom paid, Sigefrid planned to raise the biggest army ever seen in the land. Staying at Beamfleot feigning sickness Erik had effectively abandoned his brother. Without Erik beside him to agree on a battle plan Sigefrid had no doubt thrown himself into the thick of the fighting and eventually been killed. The grief and remorse Erik felt had not prevented him from finding his princess, now a widow, and marrying her.

She had been right. Once Erik was no longer prepared to be the subservient younger brother the two men were bound to disagree. Sigefrid couldn't accept Erik's love for the princess and Erik wouldn't give her up. Erik must choose, and he chose her. From then on, he was on her side. Which meant Alfred and the house of Wessex, must survive. 

He was not a traitor. The arrangement decided by Sigefrid was that he would be king over all the land, leaving Erik the sea. But how, exactly, did one become king of the sea? Was he condemned to a life of piracy just for a palace built on some island rock? His brother never considered what he might want. Or think. Erik recalled the times when his brothers manner had embarrassed him, such as when Sigefrid had negotiated with King Guthred and asked for women as part of the bargain. Guthred's sister Gisela had told him stonily that they were getting none. After the discussions were ended Sigefrid had shamelessly suggested he marry the Lady Gisela. Erik had been ashamed of his brother, and himself. 

Erik was no traitor. They were opposites always, fated eventually to disagree. But for all his ferocity and tactlessness, Sigefrid had a love of life that was exhilarating - and Erik missed him.

"All well, Lord?" the groom was eager to please and smiled hopefully at him. Erik was glad the people didn't regard him with fear and dread. He preferred their respect. Not so his brother. Opposites, always. He surveyed the horse in the stall.  
"They all look very well... Oswy, isn't it? Keep up the good work. The warhorses are fetching good prices, and those are only the ones we are prepared to sell."

After a brief conversation in the stable yard, Erik made his way back to the great hall. He paused, still a way off, to gaze at it in the sunshine. It was all his! She had given the land to him as a wedding gift, knowing he needed somewhere that belonged to him rather than her family. It was wonderful land but the buildings had been old and crumbling. He had enlarged and rebuilt the hall to his own design. It resembled Beamfleot just a little. There was now a strong wall around the burh as it was in the borderlands, with the Danelaw just beyond. Ravenshill, the name, was perfect too. He told anyone who queried it that there was an old monk called Benedictus who had lived in a cave, had a raven which fed from his hand. The property was old though, and had probably been named after a flock of ravens who had lived there, bringing to mind the two ravens of Odin, who flew round the earth, looking to bring news to their master. As the name worked to unify the two ideals, so it embodied the vision of a future, united, England. 

He would miss his brother until the end of his life but he was a realist. In his place, Sigefrid would not miss him nearly as much.


	2. Chapter 2

Aethelflaed was sitting in their private quarters at the rear end of the great hall. She laid aside the book she was reading and stood up to greet him.  
"You were up early, I woke and found your side empty."  
"I was doing the morning rounds. How was Gloucester?"  
"Tiring. Endless disputes to settle and I ate something which disagreed with me, so I've been feeling rough."  
"Oh I'm sorry, Fleda." He moved forward and embraced her. She nestled against the familiar shape of him and rested her head under his chin, sighing deeply. She had got back too late to do anything more than fall into bed. Theirs was a love match and they wanted children so a bed was something they shared. "I missed you" she murmured.

He was tempted to reply "Really?" Her duties often irked him; they kept the two of them apart and while she was dealing with the Witan, the council of Mercia's ealdormen, he was left to kick his heels at Ravenshill. She hadn't asked him how he'd been faring either. Was it a case of 'what can you possibly find to do' all over again?  
"Sold a couple of horses, including that roan warhorse."  
"Oh good. I'm glad they are going well."

Alfred had agreed that it could be called The Royal Stud. It had been a dream of Aethelflaed since before her first marriage, but she could at first do nothing as Aethelred would never have agreed to let her breed horses. This was not a woman's work - planning and logging the bloodlines, assisting at the mating. Aethelflaed had built a special barn for this. One end held hay and equipment and the other had a space for bringing the stallion to the mare. There was a window from where the mare could see the teaser horse, which would put her in the mood. Aethelred would have been appalled to see his wife involved in such an activity yet when she did have the time she liked few things more. It was creating new life, she had once told Erik as she threw a bucket of cold water over a stallion's underside after a covering. Erik enjoyed her enthusiasm; sometimes he helped her along with the stablemen. He never felt threatened by her strength and determination.

It takes a strong man to support such a wife, of course, Erik had realised. Either that, or a weakling, but Aethelflaed would never have married a weak man out of free will. She had fallen for him because he was all that Aethelred was not; he cared about her, he was gentle, kind and very, very strong. She had stayed with him because he was a rock.

"I'm not pregnant" she said at length.  
"Never mind." He pulled away and looked at her, "I don't care. It wouldn't matter to me if we didn't have any more children. We have each other."  
"Aelfwynn is a girl, and I need sons."  
" Your brother has sons and there will only be one king in future."  
"It's not just about that. I want a legacy. Our legacy. Alfred's."

There was that name again. Bloody Alfred. Why should he, Erik, have to produce children for Alfred? Was that all Erik was, an appendage of the house of Wessex? And an unsuitable one at that, being a Dane and former pagan with not a drop of royal blood. That little shit Aethelred who barely came up to his big Danish shoulder had been more to their liking, even if he had made Aethelflaed unhappy. 

Erik shifted uneasily and moved to a chair. It wasn't Aethelflaed's fault; she adored her father and she was queasy with having eaten badly. But why had she not bothered to ask him how he was? I'm well, he could have told her, and so is this place which I have built from nothing. My farms are overflowing with good things, we have more milk, cheese and eggs than we can eat and that's despite slaughtering surplus animals for meat. I have high quality wool from the flocks of sheep that came from the breeding pair I bought five years ago. I've sold six horses this month and had people begging to bring their mares to Titan, our warhorse stallion. They'll pay what I ask. The people round about are content because I listen to their grievances and enforce the laws with fairness. Alfred's laws, which I have bothered to read. I've supported our monasteries and reorganised the fyrds. Our forges are producing swords and spears and I have required that all young men of a certain age be taught in their use. That will help them survive better than just giving them reaping tools and telling them to do their best. 

And there was that woman at the May Day fair who made it clear that she at least was one Saxon who does not resent a spear-Dane. Had he been interested, Erik could have spent a delightful afternoon with her, but he had simply smiled back at her and turned away. He loved his wife and kept himself for her. He recalled how madly in love he and the princess had been. She had teasingly called him her 'spear Dane' in their private code. They used to do that quite a bit; have private expressions for private things. Words only they would understand. 

Lately it had all been about Alfred and his ambitions for England - most of which Erik agreed with, although why was it always about what the King wanted? He thought that Aethelflaed's desire for more children was part of this as well. Perhaps if they went into that breeding barn and humped on top of the hay bales they might have more luck? he could dash his privates with cold water afterwards, for good measure. The Royal Stud indeed.

Aethelflaed noticed the thoughtful look on his face and that dear little crease between his eyes that appeared when he was thinking over some problem. "I'll leave you to your thoughts, but don't go. I'll be back in a moment."


	3. Chapter 3

Erik sighed. If she had to go to the latrine, why didn't she just say so? Or she could have used one of their private expressions. 'Making gold' was one phrase they had. It had begun when she had needed to go to the latrine and had joked that manure was important and worth good gold. They had been in bed at the time, as they were so often in the early days, and he had said lazily from beneath the fleeces that she should go and produce plenty of gold then. 

Perhaps these little words and phrases they had shared were a bit childish, but was she distancing herself from him? Did she forget that he wasn't one of her nobles, but her husband?

This is how it was. This is what he had taken on.

 

His stronghold of Ravenshill was a considerably better home than he'd ever had before and no 'king of the sea' could hope for anything as fine, set as it was among a vast hideage of prime farmland. For all the annoyances, he knew he was a good overlord and the people regarded him highly. He might just as well be an Ealdorman. He didn't attend the Witan but in every other way he had authority and the respect given to the husband of a princess. His great hall was bright with noble and royal insignia: the Mercian banner, Alfred's and his eldest daughter's own banners along with Erik's own: the wolf and moon with the rune Ehwaz, the first letter of his name. Written in runic it looked like an M, which many people fortunately mistook for Mercia. Aethelflaed had suggested it. She liked runes, they fascinated her, even if they were part of the pagan past. Ehwaz also represented harmony, trust, the family, the marriage bed. 

Erik reached for Aethelflaed's discarded book and was surprised to see that it wasn't a prayer book but a collection of simple fables, easy to read with pretty illustrations. Well, she wasn't feeling well, was she?

Suddenly into his mind flashed a memory of the King himself. It was one of their first meetings. Alfred had drawn Erik aside for one of his serious talks but this wasn't to be about religion.  
"Aethelflaed will be the most powerful woman in this land." He had said, "She will take the role of her former husband which means that she will be an active ruler and in name at least the head of the Mercian armies. She will sit at the head of the Witan and she will bear all the heavy responsibility of a good leader. In this, I expect her to succeed because she has been trained for it from childhood."  
"Where does this leave me?" Erik had replied, "I want to be a good husband. What can I do to help her? I can't just sit about doing nothing and I won't have people saying I married her for fame and wealth. I need an occupation like any other man. I need work."

Alfred had nodded, understanding, and was silent for a while. Then he spoke, "Aethelflaed is your work."  
It was Erik's turn to be thoughtful. Alfred added "I can count on you, I know, to help us."

It had been a challenge of course. Erik had asked the King of Wessex for a job and been given a mission. He would be the consort of the nearest thing Mercia had to a reigning queen. He wouldn't simply be subsumed into her, Alfred hadn't meant that. Erik wasn't supposed to lose his identity, but to be the support that his wife needed for her difficult and unasked-for task. It was the price of his acceptance into this family but his love for her did not go unnoticed. Erik was still a Dane, but one who had their blessing. As his life had changed so he had adapted his appearance. He shortened his beard and softened the severe hair style he once wore. He still had the top section tied back high but he wore it all long. Many Vikings chose to look like this. If Erik rimmed his eyes in black he would still look every inch a Viking warrior. He wore brooches of the finest Danish handiwork and on his belt he had the magnificent narrow hilted Viking swords he had once bought from a Norse blacksmith in York.

In his old armour, he would look like the Danish warlord he once was. But now when he went to war, he wore chain mail and led those Anglo-Danes who had joined Aethelflaed's army. Eventually, he would be trusted by all the fighting men and would lead them. After all, isn't that what Lord Uhtred had done? Erik smiled at the thought of his friend and drinking companion. Uhtred was the closest thing he had to a confidant. He knew that while Uhtred didn't particularly like Alfred, he would do anything for his eldest daughter. She inspired that kind of loyalty.

The heavy door opened and Aethelflaed returned. She was carrying a tray laden with breakfast. "I thought that since you were up so early, you might be hungry."  
To his surprise, Erik realised he was indeed hungry. Perhaps that's why he had felt irritable.  
"There was no need," he said softly, "you could have sent a servant."  
"I know but I wanted to get it for you myself, and I took a look at the cook house store. What a wonderful row of cheeses and preserves, to say nothing of the cured hams... " She sat herself onto the long seat and watched him eat.  
"I like being a farmer. It's in my blood. All Northmen were once farmers."  
"I envy you this place. I'd much rather be here helping with the farms, overseeing the Stud and spending more time with you than having to go to Gloucester to listen to a lot of old men carping on."  
"One day perhaps, but meantime you have a kingdom to win."

She sighed and looked at him "We have a kingdom to win, Saxon and Dane, and we will do it together. Then perhaps I will be able to retire and hand over everything to whoever is king of Wessex."  
"Your brother then. Well I hope he'll be grateful."

Aethelflaed may be his work, but he was also hers, he realised. They were connected to each other. A kingdom isn't just the land but the people, starting with them. In time others would live in this place and they would speak of their forbears. Who knows? Maybe he would be remembered as the man who saved the house of Wessex by sacrificing his own brother. All Northmen valued their reputation, what would be his? 

They would carry on, the two of them. She would be his life's work and his legacy and in time the children would come and he and his Fleda, as he called her, would slowly grow old around the great hearth in this lovely place. He took a sip from the cup she had brought him. He was at least the head of this household, he reflected. When they were together she never queried his authority. He felt a sudden rush of happiness and looked across at her. She was gazing steadily at him, her face was pale but her eyes were bright.  


"Without you I couldn't do any of it," she said.


End file.
